The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Thirty-Two

Though she tried to go to sleep, Veronica couldn't stop thinking about the lady in yellow, the lady at the door claiming she'd been buried alive. If this were true, she must have escaped her tomb and come, living, to the house. Or, had it been her spirit at the door, coming to take her revenge?

Veronica inhaled sharply. Not just revenge, she wanted the children.

Veronica rolled onto her side and buried her head in the pillows to stop the images cycling through her mind. The way the lady looked at her----her eyes changing color at the sight of Veronica, her yellow gown unwinding like a shroud, as she vanished into the dark. Jacqueline, in her bloody dress, carrying the dead hare to the house...

Wolves... Jacqueline had been a wolf.

And Sovay (for she knew now, without a doubt, that the lady in yellow was Sovay) had she done this to her own child?

Veronica sat up and fastened her eyes on the shadowy séance room under the archway. Perhaps Sovay had gone mad. All those experiments with Ouija boards and ectoplasm had driven her insane. Perhaps she'd been demonically possessed.

Veronica's mind raced back to the light under the tower door and Mrs. Twig leaving with her candles and her keys. Maybe they kept Sovay in the tower... and she'd escaped. Being imprisoned was like being buried alive. Was this the madness Mr. Crowe had alluded to? Not the twins, but their mother?

Her heart banging with trepidation, Veronica got out of bed and went out to the balcony. The cold, damp light of dawn polished the bare limbs of the birch trees and the white marble surface of the tomb, clearly visible now, in their midst. If, indeed, Sovay was kept in the tower, who, then, was buried in the tomb?

There was a way to find out: Veronica must break into the crypt and see who lay there. And if it was not Sovay's grave but some else's, she must write to Rafe and tell him that his wife had escaped confinement in the tower, and was now out wandering the grounds of Belden House.

***

Veronica wasn't ready to confront Mrs. Twig with what she'd seen during the night. Only the possession of concrete information would give weight to Veronica's deductions, and make the evasive housekeeper talk.

It was still very early. The sun had yet to rise, and the house was still held in the quiet atmosphere of sleep. Veronica pulled her brown cloak over her dressing gown and, in case the door of the tomb was locked, pocketed her nail file. She would be back well before Mrs. Twig got up to supervise the kitchen.

The floor of the birch grove was thick with fallen leaves, cushioning her footsteps like a plush carpet. The tomb waited, cold in its clearing, the four angels mourning on its rooftop, drenched with dew.

The door was ajar.

Veronica stepped close enough to see, through the narrow opening of door, lights glimmering deep inside.

Was she in there? Waiting?

Veronica slowly approached the door, pushed it open a bit more, and peered into the gloom. A stairway led down to a tiled vestibule, and just beyond, an iron grille rose up before a chamber filled with candlelight.

Swallowing a sense of dread, Veronica held her breath and went slowly down the stairs. Dead leaves, dried animal bones, bits of fur and scabby feathers lay in heaps over the floor, as if it were the den of some animal. White lilies bloomed in vases flanking the grille, their spicy scent overpowering the nose-tingling odor of decay.

Veronica tiptoed over the debris, and staying behind the wall, looked through the grille into the chamber. The crypt seemed deserted.

Two marble coffins rested on high, sculpted biers with tall crosses standing upright on the lids. The cross on the larger coffin was broken, its upper half lying shattered on the floor.

Holding her breath, Veronica went in, and approached a large marble sarcophagus. Carved on the lid, at the base of the broken cross, was a heraldic shield. Words were carved into the shield, in neo-Gothic script.

Sovay de Grimston

Beloved wife of Rafe de Grimston

1840-1872

I hardly knew  her...

She was dead, then.

But had she been buried alive? Rafe would never do such a thing. He couldn't.

On the side of the coffin was an enormous marble seal bearing all that was left of a fleur de lis. The rest of the seal seemed to have been broken away by a hammer. Along the edges of the lid, Veronica found more, smaller, seals carved with indecipherable symbols. All had been smashed.

Clearly, some vile individual had broken into the coffin. Or, had Sovay broken out herself?

Veronica pushed on the lid. It was extremely heavy. No one could have opened it from within.

The candles were burning low. Some were sputtering out, and as they died, erratic splashes of light flew over the smaller coffin, over the cross that still remained upright, casting its shadow on the wall.

Veronica went over to see who was buried there. Carved in the marble lid in stately script, she found:

Sylvie Celeste de Grimston

5, April 18 1859 - 1 May, 1870

Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord

"Vengeance," Veronica whispered. "For an eleven year old child!"

So, the twins did have an older sister. She must have also been pale and blonde... like the girl she'd seen in the photographic plates. Her sarcophagus also bore seals. A large shield bearing a dove was intact at the foot, and lilies, each carved on a red-painted marble round, covered the seam between coffin and lid along the sides.

The candle flames lengthened, blasting the walls with fiery illumination.

They'd been sealed in with holy symbols, under large crosses. Why?

What she was about to do made Veronica sick, but she had to know the truth. Mustering all her strength, she grasped the edge of the lid to Sovay's sarcophagus and pushed. Though the solid stone was back-breakingly heavy, she was able to jar it a bit. Another hard shove----and it scraped open a crack.

Veronica looked inside.

Tiny points of light glittered up from the darkness... like sequins on a yellow dress.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Veronica glanced over her shoulder at the other, smaller, coffin, then back at the glimmering darkness under the lid of Sovay's sarcophagus. One more shove revealed the skirt of an ornate yellow gown.